What were gold flakes used for? Since ancient times, when emperors ordered the execution of high officials or consorts, they used gold flake wine. Adding poison to wine along with an appropriate amount of gold flakes could numb the entire body, making death less painful. Ding Yi couldn’t comprehend it—just because Hong Ce was the son of the Khalkha Noble Consort, he must be colluding with the Mongols. True, Mongol blood flowed through his veins, but they forgot that his other half, like theirs, also descended from the founding Emperor of the Great Ying.

“Serving the emperor is like living with a tiger”—how true these words were. Once an official reached a certain rank, the emperor would begin to control them. No matter how much you had contributed to the court, if he couldn’t tolerate you, he simply couldn’t tolerate you.

After seeing off the Seventh Prince, she returned to the flower hall in a daze, sitting alone and not speaking to anyone. Hai Lan was puzzled and quietly asked what was wrong. She frowned and said, “I must go to Khalkha. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Xia Zhi was shocked. “You’re going to Khalkha? It’s so far away, and that place is full of Tartars who kill any Central Plains person they see. Have you gone mad?”

She couldn’t consider too much now. If she were fortunate enough to die by his side, at least she would see him one last time. If fate decreed that she had no such blessing in this life, then leaving her body in the Gobi Desert would repay her past transgressions.

“Has something happened to the Twelfth Prince?” Hai Lan asked. Xian’er squirmed in his swaddling clothes and began to whimper.

Ding Yi glanced at the child. “The Twelfth Prince… suffered a military defeat. Someone at court has falsely accused him of colluding with foreign enemies. The Emperor has ordered the Thirteenth Prince to supervise the army, and if the allegations are confirmed… he will be executed.”

Hai Lan gasped and murmured, “This world has truly become unbearable. The armies are in active combat—going alone would be suicide. You still have Xian’er. If something happens to you, what will become of the child?”

She was reluctant to leave him too—the child she had struggled so hard to bring into the world was truly the apple of her eye. But what could she do? The child’s father was in danger. Useless as she might be, she still had her life. Even if she died, she must save him.

She pressed firmly on Hai Lan’s hand. “Sister-in-law, listen to me. If the Twelfth Prince returns, please give Xian’er to him and ask him to treat the child well. If both of us perish there, keeping the child would burden you. I beg you to take him to Lang Run Garden. If his wife is willing to raise him for the Twelfth Prince’s sake, that would be best. If not… please entrust him to my master. I have no other choice…” She turned her head to wipe away tears. “I have no family left, only my master can help me now.”

Hai Lan wept along with her. “Don’t worry. The child isn’t going anywhere—he’ll stay with me, and I’ll take good care of him. But you must return. No matter how good others might be, they can never replace one’s parents. Don’t let Xian’er follow your path.”

Xia Zhi stood nearby with a bold declaration. “I’ll accompany you to Khalkha. Two people can look after each other. I’m worried about you traveling alone.”

Ding Yi shook her head. “There’s no need. I’ll move faster alone; another person would only hinder me. Besides, it’s not safe there, and I can’t involve you too. My Xian’er is entrusted not only to my sister-in-law but also to you. Brother, the peace of this household depends on you.”

Her mind was made up, and no one could change her determination. Watching the most important people in her life die one after another was a torment to live through. So if death was inevitable, let them die together. She would assess the situation when the time came—a person willing to risk their life could accomplish anything.

She packed her belongings and prepared to depart, kissing Xian’er’s forehead before leaving. Her heart was full of words, but looking at the helpless infant, she couldn’t utter a sound. She wanted to watch him grow up, to see him establish himself in life, but someone like her was destined to have shallow connections with loved ones—first her parents and brothers, now her husband and son.

Dressed in men’s clothing, she gritted her teeth and mounted her horse. She heard Xian’er begin to softly cry, and her heart bled, but she couldn’t delay any longer. Perhaps the Thirteenth Prince had already departed. If she fell too far behind him, what use would finding the Twelfth Prince be?

She turned her horse around, whipped it vigorously, and galloped through the city gates. In winter, all things withered, and the light frost remained unmelted. After traveling some distance, she looked back to see the city walls faintly rising with a pale hue before disappearing at the horizon.

From Beijing to Zhangjiakou, then to Ulanqab, the shortest distance to the border was through the Right Sunite Banner to Zamyn-Üüd. Right Sunite Banner was an eroded plateau. Just inside the border, there were still vast plains and hills, but approaching the border between the two countries required crossing the Hunshandake Sandy Land. It was a desert with water and beautiful scenery but with large temperature differences between day and night. If one couldn’t cross it in a day, they would have to spend the night there.

She camped near a water hole. Since there were no more post stations to lodge at, Ding Yi’s load on horseback grew increasingly heavy, until finally she couldn’t carry anymore and had to buy a camel. Camels could bear heavy loads, carrying thick felt and fodder on their backs, and when tired, one could rest right there.

She built a fire, toasted dry rations over it, and made do with a meal washed down with cold water. Afterward, she leaned against the camel—its hump was warm and could block the wind. With some leisure time, she took out a small silk pouch and fidgeted with it. It contained the haircut from Xian’er at his one-month celebration. She carried it with her, taking it out to look at whenever she missed her child, easing her longing somewhat.

Passing through a small market, she bought a bronze mirror, exquisite and lovely, only the size of a palm. She took it out and examined herself in the firelight. She had the kind of skin that didn’t tan easily, but the wind and sun had cracked her cheekbones, appearing bright red at first glance. She found a small jar of lard and roughly applied it to her face. The stinging subsided somewhat. She pulled over the thick felt, covered herself, and lay down in a bundle. All night, the wind howled in her ears, and wolf howls rose and fell in the distance. At first, she was afraid, but later she succumbed to sleep. When she woke the next morning, she was safe and sound, which was fortunate.

As she packed her things and prepared to leave, while leading her horse, she discovered a pool of blood on the sand. She was startled—in such places, whether human or animal, an injury made it difficult to survive. She hurriedly checked her horse and camel, examining every part—they were fine, without even a scratch on their skin. Where had the blood come from? Despite her confusion, continuing the journey was more urgent. She tied up the felt and set off again.

After another day’s travel, she gradually approached Erenhot. Standing on the embankment, she could see that across from the military outpost lay the land of Khalkha. She tightened her belt and proceeded with her horse and camel.

To cross the border, one needed official documents. Fortunately, the Seventh Prince had helped, arranging everything properly that day. Now that she needed to use them, it wouldn’t appear suspicious.

The border guard raised his hand, looking her up and down. “Where are you from?”

She said, “From the capital, going to Ulaanbaatar to join relatives.”

The leader, a Zuoling, examined her documents and sneered, “There’s a war out there, and you’re joining relatives? What scheme is this? I think you’re making up stories!”

She grew anxious but couldn’t recklessly argue back. Smiling apologetically, she said, “It’s not a lie, I truly am joining relatives. Look, my travel permit was issued by the court—it can’t be fake.”

The Zuoling laughed heartily. “Who knows if you stole it? Planning to smuggle goods and defect?” His whip pointed at her horse and camel. “What’s loaded on them? Two men, go check.”

Several soldiers rummaged through her belongings. Ding Yi understood that leaving wouldn’t be so easy. Having documents wasn’t enough; you also needed to pay a bribe. Otherwise, they could easily frame you, and imprisoning you would take just a word.

Being pragmatic, she took out a banknote from her sleeve pocket, pulled the Zuoling aside, and pressed it into his hand. “Take this. It’s not much, just twenty taels, for you and your men to buy tea and warm yourselves. I’m a law-abiding citizen; I don’t know what defection means. My family is all gone, and I only have a cousin doing business beyond the border. I need to find him for a livelihood. You judge people well—look at me, even if I wanted to defect, who would want me? Please show mercy and let me pass.”

The Zuoling saw that this young man understood the way things worked. Border posts didn’t bring in much income; they relied on extorting travelers for extra money. Twenty taels wasn’t much, but it wasn’t little either—just enough to fill a gap. Better than nothing. So he readily said, “We don’t mean to make things difficult for you. The armies are at war, and we’ve been ordered to strictly examine all travelers. Please understand.” He tucked the banknote into his sleeve and called out loudly, “If there’s nothing suspicious, that’s fine. Why are you still ripping apart his bedroll? Stop, stop!”

The two soldiers obediently returned. Ding Yi looked back and saw her belongings scattered about. Fortunately, she had no valuables. She bowed to the Zuoling. “Sir, I’m timid and afraid of the war ahead. Could you tell me where the army is now so I can avoid them?”

The Zuoling shook his head. “They’ve all gone deep into Khalkha territory. We’re far away and only hear bits and pieces, nothing certain. Earlier, they were said to be in Deren, but I don’t know if they’ve moved. Cross through Zamyn-Üüd and ask the local people—those border residents speak Chinese and would know better. Further ahead won’t work; the gibberish Tartar language is incomprehensible. Finding someone will be difficult for you, young man.”

She hesitated, realizing language barriers would indeed be a major problem. Just as she was about to inquire further about the war situation, a group of horsemen arrived briskly behind them—just three to five men with a large cart, driving several dozen horses. They appeared to be horse traders doing business between the regions.

The Zuoling was accustomed to receiving favors from people. He was familiar with these horse traders. They brought two jars of wine and slipped him some silver, and he was immediately arm-in-arm with them, calling them brothers.

The soldier with the wooden spears returned her documents and sent her across the border, but she didn’t leave. She covered her mouth and nose with a linen cloth, stepped forward, and approached the Zuoling, saying, “Sir, these gentlemen are leaving the border—where are they heading?”

The Zuoling, having just received her twenty taels, was particularly accommodating. He understood her intention as soon as she spoke. He turned to the lead horse trader and said, “Old Huang, this young brother wants to go to Ulaanbaatar. You’re heading that way—take him along. He doesn’t speak Mongolian and is afraid of getting lost.”

Traveling merchants often upheld a code of honor and spoke directly. “You dare to cross the border without speaking Mongolian? You can come with us, but our horse caravan doesn’t take idle people. You must help water the horses and feed them. Can you do that?”

Ding Yi raised her voice and said she could. “I understand the rules. I’m very diligent.”

“That’s good.” The man slapped her shoulder, nearly collapsing half her shoulder blade. “Lead your skinny camel and let’s go!”

So for now she had protection, though she had to be cautious—a group of rough men were quite different from the refined Hong Ce. She tried to appear crude, mimicking the unruly manners of San Qingzi and Xia Zhi, managing to capture about seventy to eighty percent of their style.

The horse caravan continued northward. After crossing the Gobi Desert, the road became easier, but spring in Khalkha was still very cold. Anyone daring to sleep outdoors during this season would certainly freeze to death. Old Huang frequently traveled this route and knew clearly which places had checkpoints and when inns were available. They stopped at a small town called Barang, where the group drank and ate meat in the main hall. Mongols were a bold people. Ding Yi observed the robust men around her with their red faces, each speaking with thunderous voices and moving with tiger-like energy. She could imagine how the Seventh Prince’s Consort Xiaoman must be formidably resolute.

However, due to the war, the town was no longer as bustling as before. Instead, foreign merchants were more active. For instance, horse traders—during wartime, this was a good business. Horses were the foundation of grassland people’s lives; they could go without alcohol but not without horses.

Amidst the commotion, another group entered. Though they also wore long robes and waistbands, their movements differed from the Mongols—more restrained and efficient. Ding Yi raised her bowl and peered over its rim at them. Those men quietly found a table to sit at, placing their swords and knives to their right. The leader removed his cloak, revealing a handsome face beneath a sable collar. With one glance around, Ding Yi knew he was the Thirteenth Prince.

He had arrived so quickly? Her heart began to pound. What should she do? The horse caravan traveled slowly and had been overtaken. Trying to infiltrate their group would likely be difficult—these men were well-trained and didn’t need someone to feed and water their horses. She could only follow them but had to be extremely careful. If caught, she would almost certainly not survive.

The next day, she thanked Old Huang, and they parted ways. Having learned the direction to Choir, she set off early, needing to get ahead of the Thirteenth Prince. Along the way, she pondered how to make them take her along. After much thought and finding no solution, she decided to take drastic measures. She blackened her face, drove away her camel and horse, and waited on their inevitable path. When she vaguely saw people approaching, she abandoned all dignity and sprawled across the road. This was her great gamble—success or failure would be determined by this one move.

Sure enough, she heard the long calls of horses being reined in, and someone said, “Master, someone is lying ahead. Don’t know if they’re dead.”

She kept her eyes tightly shut and held her breath, listening. The Thirteenth Prince spoke calmly, “Go see. If dead, drag the body aside.”

Two men responded and dismounted to examine her. They checked her wrist for a pulse and reported, “Still warm, not completely dead.”

Ding Yi secretly cursed—may you be the one completely dead! She heard the Thirteenth Prince say, “Give him some wine to warm up. When he wakes, let him go.”

The strong liquor entered her mouth, burning so fiercely that tears welled in her eyes. After some commotion, she “slowly regained consciousness,” letting out a sound, “Ah… where am I?”

“It’s a Han person!” In foreign territories, encountering a fellow countryman usually warranted some courtesy. The guards reported back, and the mounted man looked down from high above, asking, “How is he? Can he get up?”

Ding Yi sprang up like a carp flipping and repeatedly kowtowed: “Thank you, sir, for saving my life. If I hadn’t met you all, I would be dead by now.”

The Thirteenth Prince turned slightly, instructing someone to help her up. “In this freezing weather, why were you lying on the road?”

She put on a miserable face, rubbing the back of her neck. “I came to join relatives but couldn’t find them. I was knocked unconscious on the way, and they stole my horse and camel. In this remote place, with no village ahead or behind, and not knowing Mongolian, I don’t know what to do next.”

The Thirteenth Prince gave her a suspicious look. “Bodun, give him a horse.”

She waved her hands repeatedly. “I don’t want your horse. I’m a stranger here and can’t return to Great Ying. Please, sir, be merciful and finish what you started. I’m willing to lead your horses and serve as your attendant. Please take me with you.”

The Thirteenth Prince was bundled up tightly, his warm hat pulled low, and his fox fur collar covering half his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. After brief contemplation, he said, “By rights, with your unknown background, I shouldn’t take you along. But seeing that you’re a subject of Great Ying, and fearing you wouldn’t survive if left behind, I’ll show mercy this once. Remember, don’t ask what you shouldn’t, don’t look at what you shouldn’t, and behave yourself. Bodun, this person is in your charge—watch him closely. If you discover any misconduct, he will be executed without pardon.”

Bodun acknowledged with a “Zhe,” and the large group set off again. Ding Yi was overjoyed, quickly mounting her horse and whipping it to catch up.